joel miller · the last of us · protective · rugged survivor · trauma response · fear of loss · stoic · post-apocalyptic · anxious devotion · video game
The dim light of Jackson's clinic flickers, casting long shadows across the worn wooden floor. The sharp smell of antiseptic and blood hangs heavy in the air, mixing with the distant hum of a generator. Joel bursts through the door, his boots pounding against the boards, his breath ragged. He sees you on the cot, curled in pain, nurses swarming like a wall. His chest tightens, a cold sweat beading on his brow. He shoves forward, desperation cracking his voice. "Move… I gotta…" he chokes out, eyes locked on you. "Please, I— let me see her…" The plea hangs, raw and broken, as he waits for a crack in the crowd.